by Clea Simon
Twenty minutes later, she had spelled it all out: that first call from Trista, Suze’s rational takedown, the meeting at the department – and then Trista’s promise to talk after she spoke with someone. As an afterthought, she wound up by telling him about the call from the cops. She didn’t want him to take Trista’s fear – that the police were after her – too seriously. Jerry’s reaction was not what Dulcie expected.
‘Dulcie, you’ve got to go to the cops right away.’ Although Dulcie had been talking too much to finish her own breakfast, Jerry had been distracted enough to eat, and now he focused all his renewed energy on her. ‘You have to! I bet that’s why they want to talk to you. Trista’s in trouble. I knew it.’
‘But, but . . .’ Dulcie bit her lip, the half an omelet she’d managed feeling like lead in her belly. ‘I think someone’s setting me up.’ She’d explained about the meeting – and about the blue ticket – but in consideration of Jerry’s feelings had skimmed over her fear that Trista had been the one in possession of that ticket. That left her without a good excuse now, and she pushed her plate back as if it could explain for her. ‘I mean, for the theft.’
Jerry didn’t pause. Without thinking, he dug his fork into what was left of Dulcie’s hash browns and made his case. ‘I can see what you’re saying, and I’m sorry, Dulcie. But that’s obviously a mistake. And it’s only about property – an old book. Trista may be involved in a murder, and now she’s missing! That’s got to take priority.’
‘But . . .’ Dulcie had told Jerry what Suze had said. It didn’t matter; he wasn’t listening. At least he was eating, Dulcie thought, watching the thin redhead hoover up the rest of her breakfast. She certainly didn’t feel like it.
‘So, we’ll go to the university police?’ He scraped up the last of the fried onion with his fork and signaled for the waitress. ‘Now?’
‘Sure.’ Dulcie didn’t know what else to say. When her phone started to ring, she reached for her bag, hoping for deliverance. ‘Maybe that’s Trista now.’
It wasn’t, although she recognized the extension. The university police were calling again.
TWENTY-TWO
Rather than try to explain on the phone, Dulcie had let the call go to voicemail. And soon after, she and Jerry were at the front door of the station.
‘Maybe I should go in alone.’ Dulcie turned to her friend. ‘I mean, they have been calling me.’
‘No way.’ Jerry held the door open. ‘If Trista’s involved, I’m involved.’ It wasn’t exactly a vote of confidence for Dulcie, but she managed a smile and led the tall redhead in.
‘Hi, I’m Dulcie Schwartz, a graduate student in—’ She was doing her best, gripping the edge of the counter that ran the length of the room. Her voice, she knew by the way the receptionist was straining toward her, was barely audible and sinking.
‘Dulcie!’ A deep voice boomed like thunder, if thunder could have a brassy Boston accent. ‘Miss Schwartz! There you are.’
She looked up to see a man as big as his voice moving toward her, and her initial dismay began to fade.
‘Detective Rogovoy.’ He wasn’t a friend, exactly, but in the past, he had proven to be less of an ogre than he looked. ‘Um, good to see you?’
‘And you. Especially since we’ve been trying to get hold of you for more than twenty-four hours now.’ He leaned in, and the resemblance to an ogre became more apparent. Despite herself, Dulcie shuddered. ‘But never mind that. You’re here now. Come on. I’ve got coffee.’
He put a big paw-like hand on her back and propelled her away from the desk, toward a door. ‘Wait, Detective Rogovoy? Do you know Jerry Hannafin?’
She turned toward the redhead. He’d gone a bit pale, but looked up with a brave smile.
‘He’s sort of involved in all this.’ It was the best Dulcie could do on short notice.
‘Is he now?’ The large detective squinted at Jerry, not a pretty look, and Dulcie saw Jerry grow a shade whiter, which made his freckles stand out. ‘Wait here, young man. Miss Schwartz and I have some catching up to do.’
‘Please,’ Dulcie whispered, willing Jerry to stay. At this point, he seemed like her last tie to the real world. He nodded – at least, she thought he did – and then she was whisked away.
‘So, Ms Schwartz, you probably know why we wanted to speak with you.’ The portly detective made it sound like a statement, but she nodded sadly, staring at the coffee in front of her. He had promised it was fresh, when he’d brought in the two mugs. To her, it looked too bitter for words.
‘Good.’ He’d taken the seat opposite her, managing to tuck his knees under the table. ‘Why don’t you catch me up, then?’
That was a question, Dulcie knew it. She also knew what Suze would say: don’t volunteer anything. For that matter, Suze would have told her not to go in, not without a lawyer – or someone as near to the thing itself as her former room-mate – by her side. But between Jerry’s insistence and her own nagging feeling that she’d already bugged her about-to-graduate friend beyond the limits of tolerance, she’d found herself here, alone. Besides, she sort of trusted the burly detective. And she did want to make a clean breast of everything.
‘Here.’ She dug into her bag until she found the blue ticket and put it on the table. ‘Here it is.’
The detective looked down at it and back up at her. She reached over and pushed it toward him, willing him to look at it. To respond somehow. ‘The ticket.’
‘I see.’ He picked it up carefully, his sausage-like fingers dwarfing the crumpled paper. ‘This is the ticket?’
She nodded, misery choking her. ‘Yeah.’
‘I see it has your name on it.’ He held it so close, she wondered if he was nearsighted. Then he turned it over and examined the back.
She couldn’t feel more miserable, and so she continued to address the mug. ‘It’s real. I mean, I don’t remember filling it out, but I’m pretty sure I must have.’
He nodded.
‘But I didn’t steal the Dunster Codex. I swear I didn’t. I don’t know why that ticket has surfaced now, or why Trista might have had it. But it doesn’t mean what it looks like.’
The mug didn’t respond. Neither did the man across the table.
‘And I would have asked Trista how she came to have it, only she disappeared before I could and I don’t know if she’s in real trouble or if she’s just hiding because someone was questioning her.’
A thud alerted her to look up. The detective had dropped his meaty hand and was looking at her, not the slip of paper that now lay on the table.
‘Hold on, Miss Schwartz. Let’s start at the beginning here, shall we?’
She shook her head, overwhelmed. ‘I’m not even sure where the beginning is.’
To her surprise, he chuckled. ‘Maybe it will help to know that I didn’t want to speak to you today about the Dunster Coupon, or whatever this is.’ He fingered the blue ticket. ‘I’ve got insurance geeks breathing down my neck about that library thing, but I do things my own way, and I’ll be dam— I’m not going to let them rush me. But you’re saying that this ticket thing relates to the theft – and that you think someone is trying to make it look like you’re involved? That’s interesting.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ Dulcie felt the blush creeping up her neck. ‘I mean, I haven’t spoken to anyone about it – about that ticket. I could be totally wrong about all of that.’
The detective raised his eyebrows. The look did not inspire confidence, and Dulcie swallowed. This was what Suze had warned her about. This was what happened when she started talking without advice. ‘I think I spoke too soon,’ was all she said.
The big man smiled, and for a moment, Dulcie felt worse. But the smile broadened into a grin, and he shook his head slowly, and she began to hope that maybe, just maybe, her neighborhood ogre was going to take pity on one small student.
‘Dulcie Schwartz, you really do have a knack for this, don’t you?’ He didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘G
etting into trouble, that is.’
‘Well, you said—’ She managed a weak smile and a shrug. ‘You kept calling.’
‘And you thought . . .’ He shook his head and handed her back the blue ticket. ‘Look, we’re working on the theft. That’s a whole different kettle of fish. We wanted to talk with you about something different though. One of your colleagues, another graduate student—’ He shuffled through some papers.
‘Roland Galveston.’ She finished the sentence. ‘Or whatever his real name is.’ He looked up at that and waited. ‘We heard.’
‘You heard what?’ His voice had grown soft. Dulcie knew that this was a warning of some sort. She could almost feel Mr Grey beside her, the fur along his spine beginning to fluff up. But she was so tired of being afraid. She wanted to trust someone, to clear the air.
‘That he went missing. That nobody knows where he is, and that he came to the university under false pretenses.’ It all came tumbling out. ‘We had a big department meeting yesterday morning, and one of the senior faculty showed up. That’s when I heard all about the Dunster Codex – it’s a manuscript, by the way, an ancient manuscript – and that one of us graduate students might have been involved. And because nobody knows where Roland is, everyone seems to be thinking he was involved, and Trista was friends with him. Well, we all were really, but Trista probably knew him better than anyone. And she—’
‘There you are.’ The door behind her burst open, letting in Jerry and an annoyed looking woman.
‘I tried to keep him out, but he was irate.’ Dulcie recognized the receptionist from the front desk. ‘He said he had to be here.’
‘I need to know what’s going on with Trista.’ Jerry stepped into the room, facing Rogovoy. ‘I have to know.’
The detective seemed to take it all in stride. ‘It’s OK, Miss Sonnabend. I think I’ll be OK with two students.’
Muttering, she retreated.
‘And you are again?’
‘Jerry, Jerry Hannafin. Third year, applied sciences.’ Reaching forward a little awkwardly, Jerry shook the detective’s hand. ‘Trista’s my girlfriend, and so ever since she’s gone missing, I’ve been worried about her.’
Too late, Dulcie recognized that Jerry was going to make the same mistake she had. She stood up, hoping to interrupt. ‘Jerry—’
‘No, Dulcie, it’s OK. I don’t need you to defend me – or Trista. Officer – sir – you have to tell me what’s going on. I mean, I’ve known Trista Dunlop for years now. I don’t know what’s going on with the missing manuscript or any of it. All I know is my girlfriend isn’t a murderer.’
Dulcie sat back in her seat. Jerry had done it, brought up the one element she had managed to keep secret. She looked from her friend to the detective. The little eyes that squinted out were sharp and focused.
‘Murder, you say? Well, isn’t it interesting that you bring that up.’
TWENTY-THREE
Dulcie stared at the big man. Beside her, Jerry swallowed, and Dulcie remembered her initial impression of the detective. He was an ogre. A terrible, huge monster – and he was about to devour them both. She swallowed, too. Hard.
And then that impassive boulder of a face split into a grin, and the grin opened into a laugh that showed terrible, huge teeth. Dulcie couldn’t help it. She closed her eyes.
‘You kids.’ The voice sounded friendly, and she dared a peek. He was shaking his head. ‘I ask you to come in to talk, and the next thing I know, you’re confessing to stolen treasures, conspiracies, and murder. I’m not sure it’s a good thing you read so many books.’
‘But didn’t you want to ask about Roland Galveston?’ Dulcie found her voice. ‘And if Roland Galveston is missing, isn’t it possible that he’s—’ She paused, afraid to say it. ‘Dead?’
‘Who says I’m talking about Roland Galveston?’ He leaned forward, pinning her with a look. She turned to Jerry, who only shrugged. ‘And what kind of name is that, anyway?’
‘Well, it might be a nom de plume.’ Rogovoy raised one eyebrow, and Dulcie felt herself color. ‘A pen name, a fake name.’ Nothing. ‘I mean, we heard at the departmental meeting that there are some questions about his credentials.’
‘Not my department.’ Rogovoy shook his head. ‘Though I do have this Mr Galveston on my list of people to contact.’
‘Then you have heard from him.’ Relief washed over Dulcie.
‘Did he tell you about Trista? Is she with him?’ She’d almost forgotten Jerry was there.
‘Now, now, calm down. Both of you.’ Rogovoy patted the air between them as if he could lower the volume with his hands. ‘You’re getting ahead of me here.’
‘You didn’t talk to him, then,’ Dulcie guessed, her voice dropping, and when the detective failed to correct her, she felt her mood sink with it. ‘He’s still missing.’
‘He is not the object of my questioning.’
Both of the students looked up at the deliberate choice of pronoun. Jerry even started to talk: ‘Trista—’
‘Nor is anyone named “Trister”.’ Rogovoy’s booming voice cut him off, his brassy accent changing Trista’s name to something not quite right. ‘What I called you in to speak about, Ms Schwartz, is something a lot more prosaic. And since you’re here, Mr Hannafin, you may as well hear it too.’ He cleared his throat, and Dulcie was struck by the impression that he was about to recite. Sure enough, his diction cleared up as he intoned: ‘The university police have received information that prompts them to alert the student body about certain issues with online security.’
‘Hackers?’ She turned toward Jerry. He was sure to know a lot more about anything computer related than she was. ‘Because Jerry here, and my boyfriend, Chris—’
‘No, no, nothing so sophisticated.’ Detective Rogovoy was making that motion with his hands again. Dulcie was beginning to get the impression that she made him nervous. ‘Just, you know, we’ve heard something about identity theft among the grad students.’
‘Identity theft? Like someone using a fake name?’ She was about to bring up Galveston again when the big man shook his head.
‘More likely the other way,’ he said. ‘People getting access to your PIN codes and passwords. Stuff like that.’
‘You know who’s doing this?’ Jerry butted in.
Rogovoy almost laughed. ‘If we did, Mr Hannafin . . . No, truth is, we’re not sure if it is happening at all, or if it is something being planned. But one of your colleagues, someone who identified himself as a grad student, called and said there was something hinky going on, that we should check the security clearance of off-campus students, the ones who have a certain level of access. Considering how serious these things can get – and that some of you, and I do mean you, Ms Schwartz, have been victimized in the past – we felt we should reach out to you. We’re calling about a dozen of your colleagues, too.’
‘Well, I’m safe.’ Dulcie relaxed. ‘Ever since the big hacking scandal, my boyfriend has gone over all my systems. Chris is a doctoral candidate in computer sciences, and he even made me change my passwords. They’d all been the same thing, my birthday, and he said that wasn’t safe.’
‘And how often have you changed them since?’ Rogovoy’s voice was soft.
‘Well, that was only last year.’ Dulcie saw him turn. Saw the detective and Jerry exchange a look.
‘Look, this may all be a storm in a tea kettle.’ Somehow, the detective’s quiet voice was scarier than his loud one. ‘All I know is that the forensic computer guys plugged the info into their systems and came up with a bunch of names. We’re doing our best to clean this up quickly. But it’s the end of the semester and, frankly, we’re kind of overloaded. Did you know the ambassador to Kenya is coming to speak? So all we ask is that if you notice anything – charges on your credit cards. Emails from people or companies you never heard of, assuming you’ve bought into something. Whatever. Just let us know, OK?’
‘Sure.’ Dulcie was a little stunned. Jerry, however, was not.
‘But what about my girlfriend?’ He leaned on the table. ‘About Trista Dunlop?’
‘What about her?’ Rogovoy met Jerry’s eye, and Dulcie wondered which would give first. ‘Do you want to file a report?’
‘Maybe.’ Jerry looked up at him. ‘Yeah, I do.’
‘OK, then.’ Rogovoy sighed like a bellows and reached for a pen. ‘So, I assume she’s been missing more than forty-eight hours?’
‘Well, no.’ Jerry’s face knit up. ‘Not yet.’
‘Not yet?’
He shook his head. ‘She didn’t come home last night, and she’s not answering her cell. Or returning messages.’ He looked to Dulcie for confirmation. ‘And she was supposed to meet Dulcie for coffee yesterday, only she never showed.’
‘It’s true, Detective.’ Dulcie came to Jerry’s defense. ‘Something was going on, something she couldn’t talk about in the departmental offices. So we made plans to meet and then – nothing. I haven’t been able to reach her, either.’
‘And is there anything else going on in this young woman’s life?’ He looked from Dulcie to Jerry. She could almost see his suspicions, and she willed Jerry to keep his mouth shut.
It didn’t work. ‘She’s defending her thesis next week,’ he said. ‘But that’s not it.’
‘Wait a minute.’ Rogovoy had put the pen down. ‘You’re telling me that after how many years, this girl is finally finishing up her degree. She’s got what’s basically the biggest exam of all, and so now she’s acting a little weird. Maybe –’ he shot Jerry a look – ‘she doesn’t want to spend every night with her boyfriend. Maybe she doesn’t want to schmooze with her girlfriend. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe she’s locked herself away someplace quiet? Like, maybe she wants to study?’
‘She’s not in her favorite super-secret study nook, either.’ Dulcie was proud of that one. ‘I checked.’
‘And if you know about it, how secret can it be?’ Rogovoy put the pad away and looked like he was about to leave, when Dulcie played her trump card.
